Draftbook Drabble 30
by CMW2
Summary: IMPORTED STRAIGHT FROM LiveLoveWRITE-30th in a series of hopefully many;CMW2/Trumpetnista: Draftbook Drabble #30-(Fitz, Olivia, one night stand-morning after, post college twentysomethings AU, mentioned past Mellitz Zombie and one sided Olake, Olitz, first kiss, first time, NSFW);Rated for language. imagery, and spice;16th in my 2015 SSS Project


**Author's Note: So far, so good. It was touch and go with 5x02 (you'll see my full thoughts in** _ **Shattering**_ **'s next A/N) but Season 5 is keeping true to the hype overall. Not only are Olitz still together (for now, anyways), at least 5A will be about Liv, especially Liv, and Fitz evolving as individuals and in their relationship together. Everyone else has their little subplots still but the show is orbiting the MVPs again and that makes me happy. Let's hope the trend lasts and hey, even if (when) it doesn't, that's why we've got fanfic.**

 **(CMW2/Trumpetnista: Draftbook Drabble #30-(Fitz, Olivia, one night stand-morning after, post college twentysomethings, mentioned past Mellitz Zombie and one sided Olake, Olitz, first kiss, first time, NSFW))**

 **Words from the Gladiator in a Hoodie:** **I've been meaning to write something like this since I started watching the show. As my fics and many others out there prove, Olitz can fit together in a variety of ways and settings. To put yourself in our heroes' minds in this one, please look up and listen to Outkast's interlude track 'Where Are My Panties?' from their still fresh as hell album Speakerboxxx/The Love Below.**

 **As always, more WIP work will be on the table after this (HandsUpPunk08 AKA** **ivebraved100storms** **and I are working on Chapter 2 of II Corinthians, already) and then perhaps a follow up to D.D. #7. I'm not sure yet. I have to see what's what with the show and how I'm feeling. Anyway, here's the latest and I hope you guys dig it! Mad Love, Jam, and Power Drills ~*Trump*~**

 **Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

" _It's 7:48 on a sunny Sunday, February 1_ _st_ _, 2015 and we've got a mess out there during the morning rush…3 car pileup on…along with the ongoing construction downriver…jackknifed semi trailer at the interchange…be sure to give yourself extra time to…"_

The clatter of the alarm clock-radio hitting the floor sounded like a thunderclap but it was better than the cheerful caterwauling of the morning news. Opening her eyes slowly against the bright sunlight pouring in through windows, 24 year old Olivia Pope was grateful for 4 things. First, she didn't have to go to work. It was Sunday and she had until 12 noon Tuesday to recover from everything she had done the night before.

Second, she had made it home safely and was in her bedroom. She wasn't in her bed. She was on the floor next to the bed but she could smell the Downy Unstoppable fabric softener she used in the bedding she was hopelessly tangled in. She could hear the low buzz of her window A/C unit and the light tinkling of the wind chimes she had hung on her attached balcony. Also, she recognized the other gold Gladiator 4 inch peep toe sandal underneath the bed that she had spent 15 minutes digging in her closet for the night before. While she was annoyed that she hadn't been able to wear it, forcing her to come up with a whole new outfit, she was glad to have found the other shoe because she _**loved**_ those sandals. They were cute, comfortable, and made her admittedly fabulous legs and ass look even better.

The third thing she was grateful for was that while she had a monstrous headache, she didn't feel like she was going to vomit, at least not for a while. Olivia knew that she would by the end of the day and it would be ugly as sin. Typically, she didn't get sick to her stomach when she was hungover but she had mixed white and brown liquor shots the night before. She had felt entitled to do so, despite the stupidity. It had been her birthday and due to her moving 1800 miles away from home plus the cancellation of her best friend since Day 2 Abby Whelan's flight out West due to inclement weather (goddamned Polar Vortex!), she had been all alone and forgotten. Well not _**completely**_ alone and forgotten but alone and forgotten enough to go hard on a dance floor and to do many, many shots. _**Too**_ many, many shots…

Her mother Maya Lewis had called her right at 12:01 her time from Milan (she and her common law husband Dominic were off on their 8th globetrotting honeymoon or celebrating Feezle-Day or whatever…) and promised that her birthday gifts would be at her doorstep by the middle of the next work week. Knowing her mother, it was going to be high quality makeup and new shoes along a hideously expensive couture dress that Olivia would adore but would be terrified to wear for fear of spilling something on it or tearing it. Dominic would send her wine, cheese, chocolate, and as always when they traveled, a new knife for her collection.

Yes, she collected knives. It was weird but weird didn't always mean bad. Weird could be good.

Olivia also collected jewelry, Pez dispensers, and seashells but knives served a historical, aesthetic, and defensive purpose.

After all, few people would ever expect a 5'4 (without her usual 4-6 inch heels), 114 pound (give or take a donut) woman to know how to carry and wield a Buck Model 110 hunting knife as easily as she applied lipstick.

Her sperm donor Eli Pope had sent a 650 dollar cashier's check the week before, along with gift cards for iTunes, Hot Topic, and the Cheesecake Factory, her go-to haunts when she was in high school. He was acquiring pieces of Yoruba art for the Smithsonian from his South African contact and would be out of cell range for 2 weeks. The workload was enormous and required his full attention, after all. He regretted not being able to call or be there with for her special day. Yeah, right and what-the-fuck- _ **ever**_. She knew the truth. Selfish, smug bastard…who needed him, anyways? She had her Momma and her Dominic. The duo were in a perpetual sexual honeymoon stage and had more than few screws loose upstairs but Olivia never doubted they loved her dearly, which was more than she could say about Eli. The dirty jerk only loved himself at the end of the day and hell, _**that**_ was probably conditional, too!

Abby had Skyped with her before she had gone into work and her IT partner in crime Quinn Perkins had made her one of her decadent giant cupcakes from scratch. It had been her favorite, red velvet with vanilla filling. The whole department had remembered her birthday and bought her a glitter covered card before filling it with 10 and 20 dollar bills.

Her department was made of awesome and once she felt human enough to work again, she'd be sure cater a good 'thank you' breakfast for them. Cooking was out of the question, especially for that many people. Put her in front of a computer and she was an Alvin Ailey dancer. In the kitchen, save for a few essential survival dishes, she was more like the chaperoning Dad at a rave doing the lawnmower and sprinkler between techno grooves, namely a comical disaster.

Unfortunately, Jake Ballard from 4th floor Marketing had also remembered her birthday and personally delivered her an obscenely large bouquet of roses. Olivia loved roses but the last thing she wanted was to accept anything from Jake, not even half of a stick of bubble gum. He was the type to see a smile and polite small talk during the morning elevator ride as an invitation for him to be balls deep in the supply closet at lunchtime. The fool had been after her like ugly on an ape from the moment she was added to the staff, much to her bitter disdain.

The only reason that she hadn't read him for filth or cut his stupid ass was that she actually loved her job and Ballard was not worth the risk to it. Nobody was worth the risk.

Plus, she wasn't sure if he was sane enough to be rejected like that. The last thing she wanted was to end up on the business end of an ego bruised maniac with a blunt and/or sharp force object. Olivia was certain that she'd get away from him alive but she wasn't tough enough for the hoosegow. A little black woman stabbing a white man, even in self defense, even in 2015, would certainly see her behind bars, _ **if**_ she even made it down to the station. There were just too many cops out there who saw black people as targets and fast tickets to paid administrative leave or early retirement. There were too many hashtags to count and those only emerged when people knew about the attacks, the murders. Who knew how many remained hidden?

Unfortunately, staying away from the wrong side of the law or away from certain areas didn't automatically guarantee her safety but still, avoiding all but absolute necessary contact with cops was one of her top priorities nowadays.

The flowers had become her chance to shut Ballard down nonviolently and she took it.

Her years in Drama Club paid off in spades because she had executed a very realistic sneeze attack, a sneeze attack that had the vase water spilling all over his shirt and tie. The less than impressive impromptu wet shirt show had the department in stitches, even their Ol' Dirty Grumpy Ass Bastard Supervisor Cyrus Beene, and Jake fleeing with his figurative tail in between his legs at lunchtime, citing a "family emergency across town".

Again, yeah right and what-the-fuck- _ **ever**_ …everyone knew that his mother lived in Indiana. The family emergency was more like a six pack of cheap beer, greasy chili burgers, and DVR'd soft porn from Cinemax. Hopefully, the humiliation would extinguish the torch the creep was carrying for her in his pants or risks or not, she'd have to use her favorite sandals to help douse the flames for good…and preserve what was left of the gene pool from his spawn…

After work, she had come home and blasted her favorite New Jack Swing era jams to get herself hyped up enough to go out like she and Abby had planned to do. Just because her birthday plans had hit a **Sixteen Candles** -esque snag didn't mean that she couldn't go and have a good time. If she didn't have a good time, then she could at least dance and drink enough to forget that she was sad.

Instead of the sparkly champagne gold mini dress she had originally picked, she had gone with her dove gray lace sheath dress, a black cover up and her white zip up ankle boots. She had then braided her hair into a side plait and went with her favorite matte red lipstick. She had called an Uber and at 7:30PM sharp, had entered Club Ivy with a sexy authoritative gait and had spent her time doing shots, working up a sweat on the floor, having fun with…

Slowly, carefully, she turned to her left and met now very familiar cerulean slate eyes.

Oh, yes…the fourth thing she was grateful for was that she had picked a damned fine man to help her soothe away her lonely birthday girl blues. He had occupied the seat next to hers at the bar about an hour into her outing and he had introduced her to Glenlivet. In return, she had given him a review course in 1800.

Then, they had started talking and laughing together, doing shot after shot of each other's poison.

She had learned that he was an architect and a California native, 3 years older than her.

She had learned that he was able to remove all the meat from a chicken wingette in one bite.

She had learned that he liked to dip his French fries in condiments instead of covering them.

She had learned that he liked Brooks Brothers clothing and Rolex watches.

She had learned that he smelled like Bvlgari Green and Aqua Velva.

She had learned that while he couldn't dance solo, he knew how to grind with a partner.

She had learned that his hands spanned her middle perfectly and were nice and warm.

She had learned that he was a damned good kisser and an absolute master at oral.

She had learned that there wasn't an ounce of extra fat on him and that he was delightfully hairy.

She had learned that he tasted salty-sweet and that his 8-9 inch long thick cock curved to the left.

She had learned that he had more stamina than a whole Olympic swim team.

She had learned that he liked pulling hair and giving spanks during sex, much to her delight.

She had learned that he was a moaner, a hip gripper, and the hot sort of growler when he came.

She had learned and had been pleasantly surprised by the fact that he liked to cuddle afterwards.

She had learned all sorts of mundane and wonderful things about Ol' Blue Eyes next to her.

What she had neglected to learn in all her education was his fucking _**name**_.

More to the point, she had neglected to tell him _**her**_ fucking name.

They had gone at it like romping, happy horny lions all night without knowing the others' name.

Wow.

 _ **Really?**_

 _ **Truly?**_

 _ **Indubitably?**_

Shit.

Goddamn it.

Had she really forgotten to tell him her name and get his name before she pounced on him? Well, before they had mutually pounced on each other?

She certainly had.

 _ **They**_ certainly had.

And it had been some very delicious sex (hell, they had woken up on the _**floor**_!), definitely worthy of another round if he wanted one and if he had the time.

 _ **She**_ definitely wanted and had the time but she still didn't know his name nor did he know hers!

Damn.

What the hell was wrong with her?

What must he think of her?

Olivia was no stranger to drinking, clubbing, and sex but she certainly wasn't the type to do drunken one night stands, especially semi-anonymous ones…

Shyly, she looked away and covered her still aching head with a conveniently placed pillow.

An even more conveniently placed comforter covered the rest of her.

 _ **/**_

27 year old Fitzgerald "Fitz" Grant III had been awake for a while, much longer than his lover.

He had woken up when the birds began to chirp and had been amused to find himself buck naked on a bedroom floor. He hadn't done that since undergrad. His hips and lower half were warmed by a tangle of bedding and his head rested on a throw pillow from a nearby rocking chair. Unlike the floors he had woken up on before, it was a nice floor and there was plush carpeting underneath his back, which he appreciated. Her ceiling was white and her walls were painted pink, lavender, maybe mauve? He wasn't sure. It was a soothing color that split the difference between pink and purple, nicely.

Sitting up, he had looked around the room, noting its cleanliness sans their scattered clothing (how his red pants ended up draped over her ceiling fan was anyone's guess…) and then took in his companion. She had been deep asleep, her hair half unbraided, and her back to him. Her sheets were wrapped and looped about her like a Gordian knot and her snores were soft, more like snuffles. Gently, careful not to wake her, Fitz had brushed her hair out of her eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the slope of her shoulder before lying back down.

Fitz hadn't intended on finding her the night before. He hadn't even intended on going out at all over the weekend until his father in name only "accidentally" forwarded a wedding announcement to him in a Friday morning email. He was cordially invited to the nuptials of one Melody Rose Vaughn and Andrew Michael Nichols on 26 June 2015.

Fitz being included in the mass email was no accident. In fact, his email had been the first in the forwarding chain _**and**_ the wedding was going to be at the main Grant Ranch-Compound. Whether Mellie or Big Jerry had taken the jab was up in the air but Fitz had been thoroughly annoyed when he first read it.

By the time quitting time had rolled around, he had been thoroughly pissed off and had called his assistant Charlotte to let her know that he wouldn't be in on Monday. He'd work from home.

53 year old Senator Fitzgerald "Big Jerry" Grant Jr. had been enraged when he ended the relationship with Mellie 18 months before. It was bad enough that he insisted on squandering his inherited political capital but to throw away a sure in with the Old Money Antebellum crowd? It was sacrilege! Fitz had listened to his father's venom but just like he would never cheat on a woman (unlike his miserable old fuck of a sperm donor), he would not put up with being cheated on by anyone, especially with his best friend. If the old man wanted precious Mellie to be a Grant so fucking badly, then _**he**_ could marry her. He absolutely refused to call her any form of mother if he did and he'd make sure that his parts of the estate would be protected from the inevitable divorce.

Apparently, Big Jerry wasn't persuasive enough to catch Melody's eye, which Fitz was endlessly thankful for. Having to live with being legally related to her for the rest of his life would've been torture.

He still remembered walking in on the undynamic duo mid romp in Mellie's Sacramento penthouse. She had called him that morning in a sorry state, sounding as if she had the walking plague. Fitz had let himself in that evening, bearing egg drop soup, medicine, and the 1989 version of **Steel Magnolias.** He had discovered Mellie getting a very special kind of throat soothing from Andrew in the kitchen. Fitz had politely waited for them to finish up before calmly ending his romantic relationship with her and his over 20 year best friendship with him. It had hurt more to lose his best friend than her but once trust was shattered, Fitz was _**done**_. He had taken the lead designer position down in San Francisco, changed every contact but his professional email, and refused to look back. Eventually, both of them had gotten the hint and now…

What had pissed him off about the invitation, other than getting it, was the fact that he was still in the same place he was when he ended it with Mellie. Fitz certainly didn't want her back. No. Andrew was more than welcome to take her on for the rest of his life. What he wanted was to move forward in his personal life. Now, that he was where he wanted to be professionally, it was time to get back into the swing of things. He had let go of the hurt but was still wary around women. He'd flirt but he would stop things before they would go too far, too deep.

Fitz had gone to Club Ivy on a mission to break through the wall he had put up. Why should he be alone for the rest of his life? Why should he deny himself just because of the actions of one woman? There were billions more around the world, millions in town. He was going to go and have a good time, maybe get a couple of numbers, set up a couple of dates…

When _**she**_ had climbed back into her seat, when the scent of her sweat mixed with honey hit him, he had gotten tunnel vision. Her cheeks had been flushed a becoming pink from her exertion on the dance floor and her long, long legs were shown tastefully by her pretty gray dress. What struck him most were her eyes. They were big pretty hessonite, seeming to glow from within and they were so… _ **sad**_. Even though she had gotten into the club (no small feat!), even though she been on the floor with a great DJ, even though she was doing shots, she was still sad. As young as she was, as beautiful as she was, Fitz's curiosity nearly ate him alive.

The bartender had helpfully supplied an answer while bringing her another shot glass plus a massive basket of chicken wings with waffle fries. She was a birthday girl, a birthday _**woman**_ , and it was a less than happy one, according to her.

It was her first birthday away from home, her parents were very abroad, a super creep at work had tried to give her flowers, and her best friend was stuck in Chicago. They were supposed to be at the Club together and then, they'd hang out and catch up until the end of the week.

Fitz had offered his sympathies and bought a shot of Glenlivet, which she instantly adored.

To be fair, she had reintroduced him to his first love tequila and it had gone from there.

He had not only been able to break through his wall, he had been able to genuinely laugh and enjoy a woman's company, conversation for the first time since early Summer 2013.

He had learned that she was in IT, able to hack into anything and to build from scratch.

He had learned that she had a serious thing for Sriracha mixed with ranch, especially on chicken.

He had learned that she liked to cover her French fries with honey mustard and ketchup.

He had learned that her go-to for clothing was Moschino and her jewelry came from Pandora.

He had learned that the honey scent came from Yardley Soap and she used Jo Malone grapefruit.

He had learned that she was a great dancer and with the right partner, she loved to grind.

He had learned that she was at the perfect height for her to fit snugly against him, back to front.

He had learned that she was an exquisite kisser and that her mouth was wonderfully wicked.

He had learned that she tasted spicy sweet and that she kept things well groomed down there.

He had learned that she liked her hair pulled and her sweet little ass spanked between thrusts.

He had learned that she bit, scratched, and screamed when she climaxed, so sexy and raw…

He had learned and had been delighted by the fact that she wanted to be held afterwards.

Mellie never wanted him to hold her afterwards. Hell, she barely wanted him to hold her before.

He had learned so much about the now wide awake and sheepish woman looking into his eyes.

There was no need for her to feel sheepish, to feel even a little ashamed.

He was in no place to judge her actions because he was right there with her, engaged to the full.

They had been in it together and holy God, had it been good, absolutely fucking amazing.

He had learned many things last night, cool and wonderful things, but he didn't know her name.

More to the point, she still didn't know his name and he wanted her to know his name.

He wanted to know her name and touch her some more and make her breakfast and just…

When she hid underneath the pillow and blanket, Fitz felt a surge of tenderness for this brilliant, hilarious, and beautiful semi-stranger.

He didn't want her to be a semi-stranger, anymore…

 _ **/**_

"Hi."

"… _hi_."

"What's your name?"

" _Olivia Pope. You can call me Liv. What's your name?"_

"Fitzgerald Grant III. You can call me Fitz."

" _Okay…it's really nice to meet you, Fitz._ "

"It's nice to meet you, too. Could you come out from under there, please?"

" _Nope, not yet._ "

"How come?"

"… _I usually don't do this sort of thing, Fitz. It's really not my style and you didn't even know my name. I didn't even know yours and wow…we really went at it last night, didn't we? Jesus…"_

"Yeah, we kinda did. Um, Liv?"

" _Mm-hm?_ "

"I think I owe you a new bra. I ripped something pink and lacy when we were in the kitchen and I remember that your panties were purple lace."

" _Yeah, that_ _ **was**_ _my bra but considering that I think your boxers went off the balcony, it's okay."_

"No, they're on the balcony railing. I see them."

" _Good…I'm coming out, now because I have to pee and I really don't want to do it on you._ "

"I appreciate that…do you need some help getting up?"

" _Yes, please._ "

It took some tricky maneuvering to get untangled from the bedding but soon, Olivia and Fitz were standing upright, leaning on each other for support as their legs readjusted. She was back from her attached bathroom in less than 2 minutes and soon, they were standing in front of her full length mirror. From scratches on his biceps to scruff marks around her nipples, they looked like they had gone hard and walked away soaked. Idly, his fingers raked through the remains of her plait, releasing it and Olivia shook her hair out, noting that it would need a good brushing before the end of the day. Her lipstick was smeared at the corners but otherwise flawless on her swollen lips and she sighed as he hugged her from behind. Her knees wobbled as he pressed soft kisses to her jugular and his grip tightened to steady her.

" _How do you like your eggs?"_

"Huh?"

" _I'm going to make you breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"_

"Fitz, you don't have to…"

" _I want to."_

"Good thing I went grocery shopping on Friday. I like my eggs scrambled with lots of cheese and there's coffee in the Keurig. All you have to do is push the on button. Do you…do you want to stay for a while after breakfast? I'd like to keep getting to know you."

" _I'd like that, too_ …"

Olivia moaned as his fingertips began to tease her nipples and she used her right hand to raise his head from her neck. Fitz's face was flushed with fever and she shivered as he rocked against her behind, letting her feel every inch of what she did to him.

Coming to a decision, Olivia turned around and steered him back towards the waiting, half stripped mattress.

She pushed him down and nimbly climbed on top of him, smiling at the expression on his face.

Leaning down, she captured his lower lip with her teeth and nibbled at it gently as she rose up on her forearms.

" _Breakfast can definitely wait._ "

" _ **Yes, it can**_ …"


End file.
